Lai Nouveau: May Offend.
Fair May stays indoor,
with artist mentor,
his minx.
Without her rapport,
his loathing would pour
and jinx,
his artistic chore
to blighted eyesore.
The sweet head she bore,
he sewed to stuffed core,
of lynx.
Still lips guarantor,
of love she once swore,
dear sphinx.
With artist mentor,
fair May stays indoor.
poem by Diane Hine
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
If You Feed It Good
If you feed it good...
It stays fresh.
It stays the best,
One can get!
Yes.
And,
If you feed it good...
It stays fresh.
It stays the best,
One can get!
Yes,
Feed it good...
And it stays fresh.
It stays the best,
One can get!
I'm not gonna mock you anymore,
'Cause you're good to me.
You don't have to knock,
On that unlocked door.
No more...
I'll rock your needs
When we get it heated! .
Now,
If you feed it good...
It stays fresh.
It stays the best,
One can get!
Yes,
Feed it good...
It stays fresh.
It stays the best,
One can get!
Yes,
Just feed it good...
And it stays fresh.
It stays the best,
One can get!
Don't shout or scream,
To be mean and demean.
I'm not your enemy.
Nor do I owe a thing....
To ya!
You can pout with a frown,
Thinking it will bring me down.
To be around...
For your clown count!
To the ground.
But,
If you feed it good...
It stays fresh.
It stays the best,
One can get!
Yes,
Feed it real good...
It stays fresh.
It stays the best,
One can get!
Just,
Feed it good...
And it stays fresh.
It stays the best,
One can get!
Keep that in your head,
And let it feed real good!
Like it should.
Feed it good.
Keep that in your head,
And let it feed real good!
Like it should.
Feed it good.
Yes,
Feed it real good...
It stays fresh.
It stays the best,
One can get!
And,
Keep that in your head,
And let it feed real good!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Indoor Games
Indoor fireworks amuse your kitchen staff
Dusting plastic garlic plants
They snigger in the draught
When you ride through the parlour
Wearing nothing but your armour-
Playing indoor games.
One string puppet shows amuse
Your sycophantic friends
Who cheer your rancid recipes
In fear they might offend,
Whilst you loaf on your sofa
Sporting falsies and a toga-
Playing indoor games, indoor games.
Your mean teetotum spins arouse your seventh wife
Who pats her sixty little skins
And reinsures your life,
Whilst you sulk in your sauna
cos you lost your jigsaw corner-
Playing indoor games, indoor games.
Each afternoon you train baboons to sing
Or swim in purple perspex water wings.
Come saturday jump hopper, chelsea brigade,
High bender-trender its all indoor games.
No ball bagatelle incites
Your children to conspire,
They slide across your frying pan
And fertilize your fire;
Still you and jones go madder
Broken bones-broken ladder-
Hey ho . . .
song performed by by King Crimson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Artist
The Artist and his Luckless Wife
They lead a horrid haunted life,
Surrounded by the things he's made
That are not wanted by the trade.
The world is very fair to see;
The Artist will not let it be;
He fiddles with the works of God,
And makes them look uncommon odd.
The Artist is an awful man,
He does not do the things he can;
He does the things he cannot do,
And we attend the private view.
The Artist uses honest paint
To represent things as they ain't,
He then asks money for the time
It took to perpetrate the crime.
poem by Sir Walter Raleigh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Peace
Artist - somebody didn't hear me
(What'd he say?)
Artist - formerly known as Prince
You gotta get your peace on
Peace, whoa oh
Peace
That's what we're here for
And not to war
When the war upon people of color thru needles
Designed to disease instead of relieve
When it ceases
I'll be a man of peace
(Say what)
When this mask of vendetta
Like tears on the face of Coretta
Roll down and go away
I'll be happier
(Happier)
I'll be a man of peace
Everybody say!
Peace, whoa oh
Peace
That's what we're here for
(That's what we're here for)
And not to war
When the time that we spend
Watching TV depends on
Whether or not it destroy or transcend
Then I won't need
(I won't, I won't)
Won't need a warranty
When the power of the hour is not yours but is ours
And the faces we see reflect all that we be indeed
There'll be a jubilee
Everybody say
Peace, whoa oh
Peace
That's what we're here for
(That's what we're here for)
And not to war
Bass
(Talkin' about freedom)
The rewards that we share will be based on what's fair
And not the curliness or the thick of our hair
Real competition, if you dare!
Music is our middle name
And we don't wanna play your game
So when the mergers you make are with us
And you take a fair slice of the cake
That we bake then you break
That would be real cool
But y'all wanna act like fools!
(What's up with that?)
Can't we all just get along?
And have peace, whoa oh
Peace
That's what we're here for
And not to war
Peace
Peace
Peace, whoa oh
Peace
That's what we're here for
And not to war
In case some of y'all didn't hear it right
I didn't call him, his name wasn't the artist
Artist, Artist
Artist - every syllable must be heard
Artist - formerly known as Prince
You got to get your peace in
Y'all tryin' to start something up in here
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Priyanthie
She's the one that i saw in the bush afar off and now,
I am her mentor on this side of the river.
Like the apple tree of love that bears the friuts of love,
I am her mentor and i have to do a lot for her.
She is called Priyanthie and,
She is the one who wants my guide on this side of the river;
And as her mentor, i have to guide her and help her.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Indoor Fireworks
We play these parlour games
We play at make believe
When we get to the part where I say that Im going to leave
Everybody loves a happy ending but we dont even try
We go straight past pretending
To the part where everybody loves to cry
(chorus)
Indoor fireworks
Can still burn your fingers
Indoor fireworks
We swore we were safe as houses
Theyre not so spectacular
They dont burn up in the sky
But they can dazzle or delight
Or bring a tear
When the smoke gets in your eyes
You were the spice of life
The gin in my vermouth
And though the sparks would fly
I thought our love was fireproof
Sometimes wed fight in public darling
With very little cause
But different kinds of sparks would fly
When we got on our own behind closed doors
(chorus)
Its time to tell the truth
These things have to be faced
My fuse is burning out
And all that powders gone to waste
Dont think for a moment dear that well ever be through
Ill build a bonfire of my dreams
And burn a broken effigy of me and you
(chorus)
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You are born an artist or you are not. And you stay an artist, dear, even if your voice is less of a fireworks. The artist is always there.
quote by Maria Callas
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Mouse Is Killed Today
a mouse is killed today
by an artist
who got mad because
the mouse ate his painting
of the nude woman
that evening while he got so furious
the mouse was at his hole
on the floor eating his usual cheese
the artist mumbled and murmured
and grumbled
and the mouse heard it
and called it
slapstick poetry
a doggerel,
the artist was not able to hold his temper
anymore
got an armalite and shot the hole with the mouse in it
in the name of art
the artist invokes his right to kill the mouse
he says it was
' clearly an artistic expression
and protected by the First Amendment.'
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Value Fever Pitch: An Artist’s Time
Bhoman F Jamhari said
'I am an artist - This does not
mean I will work for free.
I have bills just like you.
Thank you for understanding.'
Polite and to the problematic point.
Anyone who thinks believes
an artist’s time is worthless,
is definitely a person an artist
should avoid; such individuals
cannot comprehend
or remotely understand
aesthetic value of art.
Art takes time to produce.
Vision and artistic skill takes
even longer to realize to attain
expanding horizons. Time costs.
Artists of differing genre value
appreciate each other and art
which suits their temperament.
To create art
is the life blood
of an artist.
The air we breathe
is the home of art.
Creativity is our fevered mind songs
we sing in a legacy of image visions.
What kind of a con artist wants
to steal bread from an artist’s mouth;
therefore limiting the quality quantity
of future works of art, to be produced
by that artist. Answer an enemy of art.
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet: Art is Longer than Life
Much longer stays Art than an Artist’s life,
Whose earthly work is almost eternal!
His sculptures/ monuments though raised ’midst strife,
Can make any mortal, quite immortal.
The year’s consumed in the wake of an art,
His indomitable spirit and patience,
Can him enormous wealth on earth impart,
Or reward him with glory that is dense.
Each stone erected crumbles to powder;
Every painting can’t withstand time’s weather;
Inscriptions may be forgotten, brother;
But Art will live on and on much longer!
Oh, what hands made an Artist’s hands and brain!
He’s the Master Artist who brings the Rain.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The true, prescriptive artist strives after artistic truth; the lawless artist, following blind instinct, after an appearance of naturalness. The one leads to the highest peaks of art, the other to its lowest depths.
A Discouraging Model
Just the airiest, fairiest slip of a thing,
With a Gainsborough hat, like a butterfly's wing,
Tilted up at one side with the jauntiest air,
And a knot of red roses sown in under there
Where the shadows are lost in her hair.
Then a cameo face, carven in on a ground
Of that shadowy hair where the roses are wound;
And the gleam of a smile, O as fair and as faint
And as sweet as the master of old used to paint
Round the lips of their favorite saint!
And that lace at her throat-- and fluttering hands
Snowing there, with a grace that no art understands,
The flakes of their touches-- first fluttering at
The bow-- then the roses-- the hair and then that
Little tilt of the Gainsborough hat.
Ah, what artist on earth with a model like this,
Holding not on his palette the tint of a kiss,
Nor a pigment to hint of the hue of her hair
Nor the gold of her smile-- O what artist could dare
To expect a result half so fair?
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Three Principles for Success
In the old days
when I was a nobody
I needed a mentor
in order to groom me into success
into self-actualisation and to bring
all my dreams into reality
and so I found a mentor
and I learned of him the 3 principles
to success and complete achievement
And yes, since you ask,
I shall pass on to you the 3 principles
that my mentor had learned from someone before:
PRINCIPLE 1
Know what you want
PRINCIPLE 2
Never tell them all that you know
poem by Raj Arumugam
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At Juliet's Tomb.
This fair woman who is dead
(Sung so sweet of long ago)
Lies not in a mortal bed —
Song has made her couch to grow
With all sweet things, as they stir
Like unfading growths that cling
In an everlasting spring
Round her Poet's dream of her.
Time is dead — she has not died!
All the light of beauty stays,
As if the sweet lips replied
To whate'er her lover says
O'er the tomb to her, as he
Fingers her undying hair:
Such is death when Love is there,
Love that lives in poesy.
poem by Robert Crawford
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My Dear Sister Mary
It has been a few years since her I did see
Yet none quite so kind or as lovely as she
A grandmother to John Gregory son of Melissa and her son John
The years ticking by but she keeps keeping on.
As good a person would be so hard to find
As my dear sister Mary so honest and kind
About her she has such a beautiful way
The truth of her here is all that I can say.
Though she lives in New York in the U S of A
A mentor of my childhood and she still is today
I have always looked up to her and her I admire
And of singing her praises I could never tire.
Her deceased husband John was a good man and to him she was a good wife
And together they had such a wonderful life
But fond memories of him her and her son John will always retain
And in the life of John Gregory he lives again
My mentor and sibling much to her I do owe
The seeds of good karma for herself she does sow
She is one who believes on a fair go for all
And only good things about her I have to recall.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Nude Artist
A Nude Artist
he says he is a nude artist
because he is naked when he paints
such nakedness has
nothing to do with being a nude artist
a naked artist who paints a cat or a chicken
is not a nude artist
there is no nude cat
thyere is no nude chicken
just paint a naked woman
and he will be called a nude artist
an artist is not an art
he must know that
- Frog Mantra, Accents Publishing,2012 -
poem by Suchoon Mo_
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Hyperbolic
The actor!
His greater mentor;
The actress!
Her greator mentor;
With critics and the hyperbolic of things,
But this satirical case is always seen around us.
Trained from oral history,
Trained from oral works,
And like the beauty of love plus the act of peace;
With critics and the hyerbolic of the things around us today,
But, my sweet mind will lead me on always.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Muse And Centaur
He says that she is his muse,
she declares he is her mentor;
the former’s cognomen is Cruz,
the latter’s Almodóvar, center
of her artistic life, director
of her best movies, their embraces
shown not on screens by a projector,
but promontories in private places,
collaboration of Penel-
ope and Pedro paradigm
of poetry whose words excel
by pivoting their prose on rhyme.
Charlie Rose interviewed Penelope Cruz in a segment of “60 Minutes” on January 17,2010. She declared that Pedro Almodóvar had called her his muse, declaring that he was her mentor.
1/17/10
poem by Gershon Hepner
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The Children Are The Future Of Humanity
The children are the future of Humanity so teach the children well
And as their teacher your knowledge of Life and Nature to them you ought to tell
And teach them to respect our Mother Earth the one who feeds us all
And in years from now to you they will be grateful when memories of you they will recall.
The children are the future of Humanity but for guidance on you they do depend
They need you as a mentor and they need you as a friend
Children are innocent and easily led astray good role models they do need
That you have been chosen as their mentor to you is a great honour indeed.
Children who do not have good role models in life are easily led astray
That they do not receive a fair go does seem so sad to say
Far too many young children become victims of abuse
For wronging children in any way there cannot be an excuse.
As the teacher of the children you've been chosen for to lead
And though of good mentors and teachers we seldom hear about or read
That you do your best as a teacher for you enough of success
To young people that you mentor you bring hope and happiness.
poem by Francis Duggan
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If it is the mark of the artist to love art before everything, to renounce everything for its sake, to think all the sweet human things of life well lost if only he may attain something, do some good, great work - then I was never an artist.
quote by Ellen Terry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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